


Life or Death

by alovelikeher



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, in which gendry is at the battle of king's landing, post 8x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelikeher/pseuds/alovelikeher
Summary: She’d never seen death like this before. Not on this many innocent children, simply fleeing for their lives as their homes were attacked by strangers, watching their parents murdered in front of them before they themselves fell victim to the violence of a tyrant Queen.The further out of the city she rode, the louder the death around her became. The screams of mothers and fathers and the cries of sons and daughters.She rode past broken families, lost loves, and torched homes. And she realised she was wrong. This was the death she knew, a death she’d always known since she was but a girl being dragged through these very streets.





	Life or Death

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in years and this is my first GoT story, so you know - sorry if it's a bit shit. 
> 
> But I can't get Gendrya out of my head at the moment and I feel like they had so much potential that the show wasted.

Every part of her body ached. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, every part of her felt like she was closer to death than she had ever been before. She could feel the blood still trickling down the side of her ash-covered face and she was sure she’d broken a few ribs at the very least. 

Yet she carried on; she gripped the reins of the white horse with every inch of strength that she had. She forced her eyes open, even as her eyelids strained; if she closed her eyes now, for so much as a second, she knew there was a good chance she’d never find the strength to open them again.

But her eyes being opened meant she was forced to see the destruction around her. She rode through King’s Landing, tired eyes landing on burned body after burned body. Walls continued to tumble around her, fires still burning mercilessly. The air was thick with smoke and ash, the streets nothing but rubble and dust. 

The real devastation came from the people. Those who were lost to the world for good and those who were left to pick up the pieces of this cruel, unfair, good for nothing world. Arya didn’t know who she felt for the most. 

These people had done nothing wrong; a sea of innocents just trying to go about their lives in peace. Yet the rulers of this land could never agree on peace, could they? It was all about that damned throne, Arya thought, her mind going back to the mother and daughter she’d been so desperate to help. She’d tried to pull the girl away, tried to make her run as her mother fell, yet the child had refused her help completely. She’d died in her mother’s arms and Arya didn’t know how she would ever shake the image of their charred bodies from her mind. Arya didn’t know how she would ever forget this day.

She’d never seen death like this before. Not on this many innocent children, simply fleeing for their lives as their homes were attacked by strangers, watching their parents murdered before them before they themselves fell victim to the violence of a tyrant Queen. 

The further out of the city she rode, the louder the death around her became. The screams of mothers and fathers and the cries of sons and daughters. 

She rode past broken families, lost loves, and torched homes. And she realised she was wrong. This was the death she knew, a death she’d always known since she was but a girl being dragged through these very streets. She knew the pain surrounding her.

She knew. 

She knew the boy bleeding in a war that was never his to bleed for.

She knew the man dying as his love was dying in his arms.

She knew the mother desperate to protect her babe. 

She knew the girl stood screaming for her father. 

She knew the girl helpless as she was made an orphan. 

She knew her Mother and Father. She knew Robb and Rickon. Sandor and Beric and Theon and all the rest. She knew what it was to feel loss, though perhaps she had forgotten how cruel it could feel. How utterly pointless it all was, really, when lives were taken in a second.

Her body was becoming weaker and weaker, that she knew too. She noted the lifeless bodies of the Unsullied, the Northmen and the Lannister soldiers all suddenly around her. Perhaps she was close now, she thought. Perhaps she was mere minutes away from her brother.

Or perhaps he was one of the dead. 

She wished she knew where he was. She wished she’d said goodbye to Bran, wished she’d told Sansa what she meant to her. She wished she’d told her bullheaded blacksmith how she loved him.

Sandor’s words repeated over and over again in her mind. Those words he’d said to her as they stood in the soon-to-be ruins of the Red Keep, they’d finally made her realise what she was doing. She didn’t want to live and die like him. She’d made a decision in that split second to truly live - and now she was probably going to die anyway. It was almost funny. As if death would follow her for the rest of her days and she simply had no choice now.

Her surroundings suddenly became more difficult to navigate. She could hear nothing but the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart, getting slower and slower. She was losing blood, that much she was sure of, though she couldn’t figure out where from. Her body felt heavy yet her head felt light, her vision blurring as her eyes stung from the mixture of dried tears and pure exhaustion.

The only thing that kept her going was the thought of seeing her pack again. It was what kept her going all those years ago, in the aftermath of her father’s death and then again after losing her mother and brother. She had been so close then, finally, she remembered. She could see it now, the memory in her mind more vivid than anything currently in front of her eyes. Her brother’s men being killed, and the moments that followed as she pieced together what that meant. The sight of Robb’s body, Grey Wind’s head attached. A sight that she knows will not leave her for the rest of her days. That indescribable feeling that hit her at the realisation of her mother’s murder. 

Now, her pack was much smaller. But they’d found each other again. They had been home, together at last, back in Winterfell where they belonged. Yet that moment of happiness and belonging had been fleeting, as they were soon fighting the army of the dead. She had killed the Night King, right there in the Godswood. She had protected her little brother and saved the realm. 

Yet she found herself questioning what for, as she’d watched King’s Landing fall. She’d saved so many lives that night, fought tooth and nail to protect her home and the people of all of Westeros. Yet it was only weeks later that she was watching the Dragon Queen unleash hell upon the capitol. They’d lost good men and women in the battle of Winterfell. She wondered how many of the now fallen Northmen had celebrated their victory back in the North, just to die weeks later on the streets of King’s Landing.  
Sandor was one of them, she knew that much. There was no way he’d have been able to escape the terror once the Red Keep had fallen, when she’d barely made it out in time herself. She knew that he was going to die taking down his brother, no matter what. She understood that their goodbye would be their last. She understood that this was something he needed to do because his vengeance was all that he had lived for since he was but a child.

She recalled a man in a panic, asking anyone and everyone if they’d seen his wife. Arya wondered if he had found her - if she had been alive when he had, or if he was too late. She wondered if he was now one of the tens of thousands indistinguishable corpses.

Her thoughts went back to the mother and daughter. The rest of the innocents desperately trying to flee for their lives, and those accepting their fates to be with their dying loved ones in their final moments.

Then her mind took her to him.

All I know is that you’re beautiful and I love you.

She’d rejected him. Broken his heart in two. The one person in her life who reminded her that she was capable of love and joy and that maybe she even deserved those things. Because for some reason foreign to her, he looked at her as if she was the only woman he’d ever looked at. He told her he loved her.

She didn’t say it back.

The ringing in her ears was getting harder to ignore but all she could see was his face.

He’d been fighting by Jon’s side, or at least that had been the plan. She hoped by some miracle he hadn’t been there when the Dragon Queen set the streets ablaze. She hoped she would be able to see him again, that she would able to tell him that she wanted him.

Arya loved Gendry. She knew that, but it was too dangerous. She still had to finish her list and she’d been so adamant about being the one to end Cersei’s life. But when it came down to it, none of it mattered. 

She wanted her stupid, bullheaded blacksmith. She would never be his Lady - that she stood by - but she’d never been one for silly traditions anyway. She didn’t have to be a Lady to be his wife. He loved her for exactly who she was; how could he not? He’d never seen her as anyone else. She’d only ever been Arya to him. She could be his family, just like she promised him when they were clueless children. That felt like a different lifetime now, yet her feelings were the same.

The white horse stumbled slightly as he trotted over a pile of a rubble, causing Arya to sway to her side. It took all the strength she had left to hold onto the reins and it hit her just how weak she was as she struggled to fully pull herself back up. The world around her spun and she slumped forward onto the horse, feeling herself losing consciousness as her eyes closed against her will. 

She could just about hear someone shouting and it took a second to realise it was her name being called over and over. Though she wasn’t sure if it was just in her head and she was too tired to try and find out. The ringing in her ears suddenly stopped and it was only once she felt arms around her that she realised she was no longer upon the horse.

“Arya! Arya, can you hear me? Arya!”

___________________________________________________________________________

 

It was quiet. That was the first thing she realised.

Quiet. Peaceful, even.

She opened her eyes slightly and immediately shut them again, the low glare of the sunlight coming in through the tent harsh against her grey eyes. She couldn’t tell where she was and all of her training from her days with the faceless men suddenly kicked in as she observed her surroundings. There was someone sat next to her, but she could tell from their breathing that they were asleep.

She immediately opened her eyes again when she realised it was him. Turning her head, a sharp pain shot through her neck but it was nothing she couldn’t deal with. A sigh of relief escaped her dried lips when her eyes landed on his sleeping frame.

Gendry.

He was sat upright on a bed, just inches away from the one she was laid on. She wondered how long he must have been sat there, for him to fall asleep sitting up the way he had, knees against his chest and his head fallen back against the tent. She couldn’t help but smile. There was a small cut that had been stitched up above his eyebrow and some light bruising around his eye, but other than that, he didn’t seem to be badly injured at all. It looked like he was one of the lucky ones. 

She herself felt much stronger than she remembered, not that she could remember much. The horse. That’s the last thing she remembered. Climbing upon a white horse and riding away through King’s Landing as the city fell to the ground. She couldn’t remember much of anything after that, not yet anyway. 

Water was the one thing she felt like she needed. She could see a jug and a couple of cups on the table by his bedside, yet pain shot through her when she tried to stand. Looking over at Gendry, she didn’t want to wake him - partly because of how peaceful he looked and partly because they hadn’t spoken since that night. But she knew he wouldn’t mind, he wouldn’t be here if he was angry with her after all. Would he?

“Gendry,” she breathed, barely able to raise her voice above a whisper. She managed to clear her throat a bit to call out to him again, slightly louder this time. “Gendry.”

He woke almost immediately and within seconds he was up and moving.

“Arya,” he smiled, as he knelt down beside her. His look of relief suddenly turned to concern, his brows furrowed together and those blue eyes filled with worry. “How are you? Are you in pain?”

“Water,” she murmured. “Please.”

“Water, of course,” he replied, rushing over to the small table and pouring her a cup. 

He came back over and helped her up into a sitting position, before handing her the cup. The water felt like heaven against her lips and she started to feel a bit more alive than she did just minutes ago.

“Better?” He asked softly, his lips forming into a small smile. 

Arya nodded in response, cup still at her lips. When she was done, she lowered her hands to her lap, avoiding his loving gaze for a minute.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, looking up at him. “Is Jon alright?”

“Jon’s well,” Gendry answered, though Arya felt like there was a hesitation in his voice. As if he hadn’t finished the sentence he’d been intending to. “He’s barely left your side whilst you’ve slept. But he’s had to go for… for a meeting, so I’m afraid that’s why you’re stuck with me.”

He let out a light chuckle at the last part of his reply, causing Arya to smile. As much as she loved her favourite brother, she didn’t mind being stuck with Gendry at all. She hesitated for a moment, his words playing on her mind.

“A meeting?” she questioned. “With the Dragon Queen, you mean?”

Gendry nodded.

“Don’t worry yourself about all that for now,” he sighed. “Just worry about getting better. Are you sure you’re not in any pain? I should get go and get the Maester actually to check yo-”

“Gendry,” she interrupted, quickly grabbing hold of his forearm as he went to stand up. “Just stay with me, please.”

She hated how vulnerable she sounded, but after everything, she could cope with the pain for a little while longer. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone right now - a thought which completely terrified her, and something she probably wouldn’t have admitted to anyone other than the man in front of her.

“As milady commands,” he teased, sitting back down on the ground next to her bed.

“Thank you,” she said. “Were you hurt?”

“Cuts and bruises, that’s all,” Gendry assured her, pointing to the stitches above his eyebrow. 

“Good. I was worried about you,” she confessed. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Nine days,” he replied and Arya obviously didn’t hide her shock very well, as he continued. “You kept waking up screaming the first couple of days; you weren’t awake, it was as if you were having a nightmare. Milk of the poppy seemed to do the trick.”

She suddenly felt exposed and more vulnerable than she was alright with. Nightmares? She hadn’t had nightmares since she was a child. The woman who slayed the Night King, ended the Long Night and brought the Dawn to Winterfell… lying in a tent having bad dreams for all to hear. It was humiliating and she could feel a blush creeping upon her cheeks.

“Nobody’s been in here apart from Jon and the maester, I promise,” Gendry added, obviously picking up on her discomfort. Perhaps he knew her even better than she thought.

“Yet here you are,” she challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

“Jon didn’t want to leave you alone in case you might wake. Seems he was finally right about something,” Gendry laughed.

“Is he still loyal to her?” Arya asked.

“Like I said, you don’t need to wo-”

“Is he?”

“I don’t know. Gods, I don’t think he knows.”

Arya let out a sigh in frustration. Jon was an idiot - an idiot who should have listened to Sansa. But of course he let his heart and his honor get in the way. Jon may not have been Ned Stark’s son by blood, but he was truly his son.

Gendry stood from his place on the floor to sit on the edge of her bed. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, both of them unsure of what to say next. It felt like there was so much to say yet neither of them knew where to start.

“Cersei’s dead.”

“I guessed as much.”

“Is that why you were here?” 

Arya hesitated, looking up at him and meeting his eyes. It seemed to her he already knew the answer to that question - he just needed to hear her say it out loud.

“Yes. I was going to kill Cersei.”

“You didn’t?”

Arya shook her head, thinking back to her last conversation with Sandor. She knew he was dead and she would forever be grateful to him for stopping her when he did. Another few minutes in the Red Keep and she probably would be dead. 

“Why not?”

“I would have died,” Arya said. “I had accepted that until somebody reminded me I have more to live for than vengeance.”

“You were with the Hound,” Gendry stated. 

“I was,” she replied adamantly. “Do we know how she died?”

She didn’t want to know how Sandor died. Not at this moment, at least.

“They’re saying she was crushed under the rubble when the Red Keep collapsed,” Gendry answered. “With Jaime Lannister.”

Silence again. As far as Arya was concerned, that death sounded far too kind. Too easy. Too quick. Cersei deserved far, far worse. She would have given her worse, under different circumstances. She’d spent many a night dreaming of Cersei Lannister begging for death, afterall. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had a new tyrant Queen to worry about.

“I thought you were dead,” Gendry said suddenly. Arya looked up, expecting to meet his eyes once more, but he was just staring at the ground. She could see the pain written all over his face though and her heart stopped for a second. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember? Any of it?” He asked cautiously. When she didn’t respond, he looked up at her. “You.. you rode here. When I say rode, I mean you were unconscious on top of a horse. How you even managed to stay on until Jon reached you, I have no idea.”

“I remember the horse,” Arya said. “I remember thinking I had to be close to the city gates. I guess I must have been right.”

“We didn’t even know you were in King’s Landing, Arya,” Gendry sighed.

“You would have tried to stop me,”

“Yes, you’re right, I would have tried to stop you from going on a suicide mission to kill the Queen,” Gendry shrugged. “Sorry for caring if you live or die.”

“I had to make sure she was gone,” Arya practically spat. “None of us would be safe until she was gone. That includes you. Cersei thought all of Robert’s bastards were dead, what did you think she’d do once she found out otherwise?” 

“Suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Gendry ran a hand over his face. “She’s gone.”

“And now we have a new Queen,” Arya said, voice lacking any enthusiasm. 

She thought it probably best to not mention that this meant she still had to kill the Queen. It was just a different Queen on her list now.

Gendry stood up as he heard some men approaching outside. Arya watched him as he stepped outside the tent, refusing to ask him to stay a second time. 

“Milord,” she heard the man say.

She had almost forgot. He was a Lord now. Why was he not at Storm’s End? If Daenerys was Queen now then that made his new position official, surely? He said it had been nine days since the battle and he seemed in perfect health. Had Jon asked him to stay? Had the Dragon Queen? Or was he only still here because of her?

It was only then she noticed the fine brown leathers he was wearing. Far finer than anything she'd seen him wear in all her years of knowing him.

“More medicine supplies have arrived, milord,” the man said. “The Maester instructed me to bring these for Lady Arya. Is milady still resting, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Yes, she is. I’ll make sure she gets these,” Gendy responded. “Thank you.”

Gendry stepped back inside the tent.

“My Lord,” Arya smiled teasingly.

“Don’t,” Gendry rolled his eyes, placing some fresh bandages and other supplies down on the table.

“Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End,” she continued to tease him. “It suits you, I think."

He simply ignored her and she wondered if that meant he disagreed.

"Why haven’t you gone there yet? Storm’s End is yours now.”

“I’ve been helping here,” he shrugged, sitting back down by her feet. She didn't need to be told it was her he'd been so concerned about helping. “I couldn’t just up and leave for my fancy new castle. I don’t have the first idea what to do with my fancy new castle, for starters.”

“You can get people who do know to help you,” she said.

“Ser Davos has already said he’ll come with me,” he explained. “But he thinks it would be wise to give a word of warning first; give the Queen time to address the Lords of the Stormlands. Davos is working on gaining the support of people who were loyal to my Father, or even one of my uncles. Lords who will be glad to see the return of House Baratheon.”

“That’s good,” Arya smiled. “Ser Davos is a good man. A wise man. I’m glad you have him.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gendry agreed. “Doesn’t mean anything though, does it? I’ve never cared about being a Lord or anything that comes with that.”

“I know,” she nodded. She knew because he’d told her as much when he was down on one knee, asking her to be the Lady of Storm’s End. Asking her to be his wife. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I shouldn’t have…” he paused. “I shouldn’t have asked you what I asked you.”

“I’m not a Lady, you know that,” Arya sighed. 

That was the only reason she’d said no. If he’d just asked her… anything else. But he didn’t. He specifically asked her to be a Lady and she could never agree to that, no matter how she felt about him. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of them. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Gendry apologised. “It just felt like everything had fallen into place. It felt like finally, I might belong somewhere. I have a name now, and I know that may not mean much to you, but it surprised me how much it meant to me. To be recognised at someone's son. But none of that highborn stuff makes any sense to me. The only thing that’s ever made sense to me is you.”

“I told you once that I could be your family, do you remember?” She asked.

“Yes, of course. Of course I remember.”

“I still can be,” she pushed her legs to the side, wincing slightly at the pain, and pushed herself up. He shifted closer to her, gently grabbing hold of her side to support her as she readjusted herself on the small bed. 

“Arya, I..”

“I thought I was going to die,” Arya interrupts him once more. “I watched as countless people - innocents - died in front of me. There was nothing that I could do, no matter how I tried.”

“You were up against a fire-breathing dragon, Arya, there wasn’t much anyone could do,” Gendry pointed out.

“I know that, but it hurt. And the only thing that gave me the strength to get out of there... was the desire to live. I thought I was never going to get the chance to tell you how I feel about you and I.. I couldn’t die knowing that conversation we had would be our last.”

Gendry didn’t say anything. He looked at her in that annoying way he looked at her, Arya mused. As if she’d never broken his heart, as if she never would. As if she was his entire world.

“I can’t be your Lady,” she repeated adamantly, raising her hand to stroke his cheek. “But I can be your family.”

“Family,” Gendry repeated with a huge grin on his face. “That sounds much better than the shit I said.”

“Yeah,” Arya laughed. “Although, at least now I know I need to teach you how to use a fork.”

“I love you,” Gendry laughed breathlessly.

“I love you too,” she grinned, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. 

She didn't know if the war was over yet, or if it would ever be. But she knew that she would live her life, that she would make every effort to be happy with her pack. She would learn to love again. She would do it for Sandor and she would do it for the innocents of King's Landing who would never get the chance. 

But, most importantly, she would learn to live for herself. She would choose life over death.


End file.
